Eleanor replied that we were not; that we were getting off pretty soon now. On the “we” business the kid resumed her inspection of us, Greasy and me. She decided that I was all right and gave me the flashing smile. My seat companion got no more than a careful, disapproving scrutiny — not that it bothered him any. He continued to smoke, flicking off the hot ashes in the palm of his hand.
The kid noticed that and stared at him once more, round-eyed. Then she turned to Eleanor.
“I’m going home to see my daddy. Is he your daddy?”
Eleanor said no, we were just friends. I thought she stressed the “friends” ever so slightly for my benefit, but I couldn’t be sure.
The girl asked, “Why don’t he put the ashes down?”
“He doesn’t want to get the floor dirty.”
“Well what’s he going to do with them then?”
Eleanor suggested, “Show her, Paul.”
Paul obligingly tipped his hand and emptied the ashes into the cuff of his trousers. The little girl studied the cuff and abruptly sped off down the aisle. I thought that would be the last of her, but she was back in less than a minute with another paper cup.
“He can put them in this.” She handed the cup to Eleanor who passed it to greasy Paul. Paul dumped the ashes out of his cuff into the cup, fingered around for the match a moment, and threw that in too. I wondered if greasy Paul was always so thoughtful of the floor. Any floor. If he was, he certainly wasn’t the sloppy gent who had messed up Eleanor’s bathroom.
Eleanor thanked the child and she sped off down the aisle. She passed back and forth several times after that but she didn’t stop. Eleanor watched her, smiling and amused.
The train began to slow its speed. The conductor opened the door behind us to shout the meaningless name of a town ending in “—field. This way out.”
I stamped cut my cigarette and glanced at Eleanor. She was inspecting her face in a small mirror.
Paul nudged my liver with the pocketed gun.
“This is th’place, fella.”
He stood up and stepped out into the aisle. Eleanor followed him. The newspaper fell from my lap as I stood up and I kicked it under the seat. The man and woman stood about two feet apart, waiting. I was supposed to get in between them.
Paul ordered, “Follow her.”
I did. He brought up a close rear, crowding me forward against Eleanor.
The engine began its reliable jerking routine, preparing to stop. The first jerk caught Eleanor off guard and threw her back against me. She fell against my chest and I put up my hands to steady her. Her body seemed tense and she quivered to my touch. She grabbed the seat handles on either side and regained her balance. I followed to the end of the car.
The child and her mother were occupying an end seat. As we went past the kid looked at Eleanor and said goodbye. Eleanor returned it. On an impulse, I did too. The kid waved. We went through the door and down the metal steps. The cold wind smacked me in the face.
According to the dingy, painted sign over the small station this whistle-stop was Pleasantfield. East of the Mississippi people live in pleasant-sounding places. West of the river however they are more honest.
The sedan had pulled up behind the station. If it were not for the snow and the cold there would have been a handful of Pleasantfield loafers on hand to watch the train go by. And so see me get in the sedan. I wondered if the little girl was watching us through the train window.
I also wondered if it would be a hole in the ice for me. I was no skater, either. At least I would find out how it had been done — the hole in the ice business I mean. Was it a tap on the side of the head, a dazed moment while the skates were fastened on, and the plunge into the water? It would be a light tap — I had to stay alive to swallow water. For a few minutes.
The Chinese girl settled herself in the front seat beside the driver and threw back her coat. It was warm in the car. Paul put himself in the rear seat with me, sitting back in one corner, half-turned, facing me. The gun was out of his pocket. It was a blue Colt automatic. He handled it in a curious way: he let it lie in the flat of his hand and he held his hand sideways, palm and gun up. I saw that his index finger was missing, he used his long finger on the trigger.
The moment the sedan pulled away from the station I sensed a change in attitudes. No one said anything; no one had to. It was in all our thoughts. We no longer were the traveling companions we had been for the benefit of the train passengers. There was no one else around to see, no need to keep up a pretense. I was definitely and openly on the short end of the stick.
